


ship to wreck

by supersonica



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Fingers in Mouth, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Canon, Rough Sex, Wall Sex, florence welch pls forgive me I am Uncreative with titles, sabien has a /mouth/, some degradation from sabien, this is part pwp part character study part tin hatting about sabien, vent your frustrations by fucking in an alley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 23:51:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18062573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supersonica/pseuds/supersonica
Summary: Sabien's leg nudges his knees open wider, but his eyes never leave Fjord's face. He knows that Sabien is looking for an answer.The half-elf is an ambitious creature, filled to the brim with a kind of burning hunger for power, for success, and it drives him to push and push and push some more at every boundary his rough, wonderful, fingers can reach.





	ship to wreck

**Author's Note:**

> the tin hats don't stop when I write pwp, folks

Fjord had known, as soon as Vandren announced it, that Sabien would be pissed. 

 

“You really think you deserve it, don't you,” Sabien says, forcing Fjord back against the alley wall by his hips. “You actually think Vandren gave you that job because you've worked hard and kept your head down like a good little sailor.”

 

Two inches taller, with his back growing wet where it presses against the bricks, Fjord looks him dead in his cold, green eyes. He'd always known Sabien was jealous of him—jealous of how he could talk to anyone about anything, of how he was always too tall to get shoved around much, of how people took one look at Fjord's handsome face and open smile and trusted him instinctually. 

 

But it wasn't as though Sabien didn't have gifts of his own—his sticky fingers, while they were often more trouble than they were worth, had saved their lives more than once, and nobody but Vandren could resist the half-elf's crooked grin. 

 

_ Not even you,  _ says a drawling voice in the back of Fjord's head,  _ he reeled you in again, didn't he. You're going to let him do whatever he wants to you, even though he's awful and he'll hurt you, you're going to let him - _

 

“It's not my fault you fucked up,” Fjord says, breathing hard as Sabien's rough fingers creep up his torso, raking over his nipples so hard he has to bite back a whimper. The other hand is still on Fjord's hips, long nails digging triangular half moons into emerald skin in a way that's going to look awful when it bruises. 

 

That's what he knows Sabien's hoping, anyway.

 

“Oh, please,” Sabien nearly growls, and for all that Fjord pretends to be above Sabien's lowbrow tactics and petty bullshit, there's something freeing about having his legs wrenched apart—he doesn't need to please anyone, here. He doesn't have to say the right thing or behave the right way, because nothing he says is going to change Sabien's opinion of him. He can walk away, or push him off, or tell him no, and Sabien will respect that, but nothing he does is going to stop his oldest friend from looking at him like he's the lowest bit of sea life.

 

_ And you love it. _

 

“Vandren made you bosun because he feels sorry for you, sweetheart. He thinks you're still his bright eyed—” Sabien twists one of Fjord's nipples, smirking at the whine that Fjord can't hold back, “—bushy tailed—” he slides the other hand, with its long, vicious nails, around to Fjord's ass and pinches there as well “—young protégé, but that's not true, is it?”

 

Sabien's leg nudges his knees open wider, but his eyes never leave Fjord's face. He knows that Sabien is looking for an answer. 

 

The half-elf is an ambitious creature, filled to the brim with a kind of burning hunger for power, for success, and it drives him to push and push and push some more at every boundary his rough,  _ wonderful _ , fingers can reach. 

 

This is another boundary, what Sabien wants, one that they've crossed many times before. Fjord feels a winter-cold hand dip under his shirt, then under the waist of his trousers, brushing slightly over the crack of his ass before digging sharp nails into flesh. He feels it, and he remembers the first time this happened; their first shore leave after nearly six months at sea, when Sabien fucked his throat so thoroughly he couldn't speak right for a week. There is a different kind of desperation this time, tighter and meaner and rougher, and as those cold fingers continue abusing his nipples and behind, Fjord can't think of anything he wants more.

 

“I can hear that  _ moan _ , Fjord,” Sabien says, kneading his hand into the meat of Fjord's ass as he trails the other one up to grab the back of Fjord's neck. 

 

“I can hear you trying to be good, but I don't think that's what you want. Vandren isn't here,  _ my boy _ .” 

 

The imitation of Vandren's voice should make Fjord's skin crawl, but the dripping, acidic condescension in Sabien's voice only makes heat pool in his groin. “Vandren won't know that you want me to fuck you raw and leave you crying in this filthy alley. He won't know that's what you deserve for taking my job.” 

 

Sabien leans up to whisper in Fjord's ear, gripping his neck tight as a vice and letting his warm breath ghost over green skin. 

 

“Not unless I tell him.”

 

Fjord freezes.

 

He smiles that crooked grin—the same one Fjord once thought he was in love with—against Fjord's neck, pushing his slimmer body against Fjord's until there's no room between the two of them and the wall is digging into his back. The hand on his ass scrapes its way around Fjord's hips and cups his cock, not letting Fjord have anything near the friction he's craving.

 

Sabien mouths at the side of Fjord's neck, playing at what a lover might do to be coy, but there's nothing playful about what he says next. 

 

“You've thought about it, haven't you? What it would be like to tell Vandren  _ everything _ . How his face would look if he knew that you once went to an officer's dinner with a dragon-sized plug up your ass, or that you bribed me into coming on that last supply run by humping my boot like a fucking dog. I wonder if he's guessed about the time I ate you out on the deck of the ship, where anyone could've seen us. What would you do if I went to him right now, if I left you here-” 

 

He squeezes Fjord's cock, once, and Fjord doesn't bother to silence his groan this time “-aching and  _ pathetic _ , and told him you once called me ‘sir’ while I fucked you stupid in the brig. Do you want that, sweetheart? Do you want everyone to know how much you get off on feeling  _ owned _ ?” 

 

The hand on his neck and the fingers on his cock are painful in how light they are. Sabien is fully pressed against Fjord's front, digging into his stomach and chest and licking filthy words onto his neck, but short of bucking his hips into Sabien's hand—which Fjord, desperate though he is, hasn't yet sunk low enough to do—there's no friction where he needs it, nothing to push against. 

 

And that's a problem. “You think you own me?” Fjord growls, moving his hands—previously trapped behind his back—to grab Sabien's hips and press their bodies even closer. 

 

Finally,  _ finally _ there is some relief on his cock, Sabien's fingers clenching around him reflexively as he's forced closer to Fjord. He gives in again and groans, knowing, expecting— _ certainly not hoping, no, of course not _ —that Sabien will take this as the challenge it is. 

 

Thankfully, he does. 

 

Sabien's snarl doesn't fit his delicate elven features at all, but still, the feel of teeth scraping around Fjord's throat as he's turned and shoved face-forward against the wall is so, so right. The teeth don't leave his neck, either, only worrying at the tanned green skin there as the hand pressing into the junction between his neck and shoulders digs in, forcing his face sideways. 

 

When he whispers against the back of Fjord's neck, Fjord knows he is well and truly fucked. 

 

“But I  _ do,  _ Fjord. I kept you alive for years, brought you to Vandren, I told him how great a sailor you are, how good you are at doing as you're told, and it's because of  _ me _ that he gave you that fucking promotion. You think you're a good man, you think you're above this—above me?” The hand against Fjord's cock moves again to his backside, shoving Fjord's trousers down so roughly he's sure some of the seams break. 

 

“ _ This  _ is what you are, Fjord. You followed me out here, you said  _ yes _ , and you're been gagging to get fucked like a three copper whore.” He can feel his breath getting shallower, though he's not sure if it's from having the half-elf's brilliant, vicious fingers literally pressing the air out of his lungs, or something a little more shameful. “You're a piece of shit, just like the rest of us.”

 

His exposed backside is starting to freeze in the chilly winter air, but he knows Sabien—who couldn't shut up if his life depended on it—won't give him anything until he's done talking. He knows this, he knows Sabien won't ever give in to what he wants without justifying it to himself, but still. His cock  _ hurts _ with how hard he is.

 

“Finished?” Fjord grunts, giving up all pretensions of dignity and canting his hips back to rub his ass against Sabien. “Wanna keep talking about how worthless I am and how much I  _ owe  _ you, or are you gonna actually touch m- _ hnmmf, _ ”

 

Two of Sabien's long, weathered fingers are shoved in Fjord's mouth, only for a few seconds before they're gone, but long enough to remind him of just how saline all of Sabien's skin is. The other man seems to be done teasing—with his body, anyway—because there's barely a second between the fingers leaving Fjord's mouth and his legs getting kicked apart. Sabien takes a moment to scrape the other three fingers, the unfiled, sharp-nailed ones, over Fjord's ass before pushing one into him. 

 

_ Good gods _ , has Fjord missed this. Sabien might talk a lot of shit, and he might be mean, and callous, and oftentimes a little cruel, but there isn't anyone who knows Fjord's body better.

 

_ And isn't that sad? _

 

Sabien doesn't say anything as he works his fingers—two, now—in and out of Fjord's ass, careful not to make it too good for him. When he pulls them out to spit on them again, Fjord whines at the press of Sabien's own erection through those awful leather pants he bought in Nicodranas. Sure enough, it doesn't take the half-elf very long to start talking again, though Fjord is pleased to hear his breath is coming a little shorter too, finally made breathless with the effort of keeping Fjord pinned and prepping him at the same time. 

 

“Now, sweetheart, we've got a bit of a— _ ah— _ problem, here. You've got your special promotion dinner with our illu—  _ oh— _ illustrious captain in an hour, so you don't have time for a bath— _ fuck, you're loose, _ ” Sabien says, and grabs Fjord's hand away from where it had been inching closer to his cock, “— _ not yet, you greedy thing _ . Would you rather have my cum down your throat, so you can— _ ooh— _ taste me while you suck up to Vandren, or— _ oh, fuck it that's good enough- _ ” 

 

Fjord whines at the feeling of Sabien's digits pulling out completely, but the sound of fingers fumbling with fabric and the warmth of Sabien panting against his neck do a lot to shut him up. 

 

As does the sensation of Sabien's heavy cock, slicked only with spit, pushing against his entrance, a single point of heat in the freezing evening air. He manages to trap one hand in between the wall and his cock to stop it from being scraped raw, but that's all he can do to protect himself from the tidal-wave intensity of Sabien fucking him properly. His clever rogue fingers are gripping Fjord's hips, digging into the skin there yet again, and when Sabien pushes inside him—giving Fjord only the bare minimum time to adjust—he remembers why he followed Sabien into the alleyway in the first place. Sabien is a liar and an asshole and a thief, and he'll probably get both of them killed one day, but knows exactly what he wants. 

 

And  _ fuck, _ if it isn't intoxicating to be what Sabien Tusktooth wants. 

 

The two of them moan in unison, like always, and Fjord feels that familiar beat of lightheadedness as Sabien bottoms out. One moment, the half-elf has his forearms against Fjord's back as leverage, and the next, he's got one hand holding Fjord's hips still and the other roughly holding the half-orc's balls. It would be completely overstimulating—it  _ should  _ be—but Sabien's crooked, filthy mouth is back against Fjord's neck, and he can barely concentrate on anything but those warm lips and the heat buried inside him. 

 

“So,” Sabien breathes, not moving his hips but pushing his whole body—trembling with the effort of keeping still—against Fjord's, “like I said, would you rather I come down your throat, or inside your ass? You're going to have me either way, I don't care if it's by tasting my cum every time you say ‘yessir’ or feeling it leak out of you whenever you move. So. Where—” Sabien pulls back suddenly, snapping his hips back into Fjord so hard Fjord has to muffle a scream “— do you—want—it?”

 

“ _ Uuhhnng, _ ” is Fjord's reply, willing himself not to tear up from the burn of Sabien's rough movement, and the horrible friction against his own neglected cock. The way the other man is sucking marks onto the back of his collar isn't helping, either.

 

Sabien, apparently unsatisfied with that answer, squeezes his balls, ignoring Fjord's whimper. “Come on, sweetheart, you're a smart— _ ahh— _ thing _ ,  _  you can use your— _ oh— _ words. What do you want me to do?”

 

And this is always the problem. 

 

Sabien, for all his unsettlingly accurate insight into the way Fjord thinks, has never understood why Fjord needs to be poked into spitting out what he wants. He's never understood  _ why  _ Fjord likes the feeling of being  _ someone's _ —and he does, though he might deny it, he really,  _ really,  _ does. His old friend doesn't get that Fjord doesn't want to make the choice, doesn't want to have to ask, wants to just do as he's told. 

 

But he knows asking is difficult for Fjord, so force him to ask Sabien shall. 

 

“I—” Fjord begins, but cuts off with a groan when Sabien thrusts into him at a slightly different angle, hitting square on his prostate. “I want—”

 

“Come on,  _ my boy, _ tell me.”

 

It takes all of Fjord's willpower not to cry when Sabien spits those words at him. “I want you i-ins— inside. I want you. To come. Inside me.”

 

The hand around his balls grips a little tighter, and Sabien's open-mouthed smile—Fjord can feel how smug it is—is wet on his skin. Sabien's hips are brutal, slamming against Fjord's and rubbing his front against the alley wall.

 

“If you insist.” 

 

And Sabien bites his neck so hard Fjord swears he's drawn blood, as he pumps once, twice, before coming with a soft noise that Fjord might've once called vulnerable. It's partly the bite, and partly the sensation of warmth spilling in his ass, and partly the knowledge that he's going to be dripping Sabien's cum for hours, that pushes Fjord over the edge with him, coming with a sob against the wet, rough alley wall. 

 

They stand together for a few moments as Sabien softens inside Fjord, not talking or fighting, just catching their breath. 

 

Years ago, Sabien would have turned Fjord back around and kissed him, would've held his waist and sloppily sucked on Fjord's bottom lip until they both collapsed on the ground, laughing. 

 

But that was before, and this is now, and Sabien only steps back to wipe himself off with a rag from his pack and re-lace his pants. Fjord stays still a beat longer, eyes wet and closed, and he's about to turn back around when he feels— _ oh _ —

 

“Taste.” 

 

Sabien pushes a finger that has just swiped across Fjord's entrance against his lips. Turning his body to face Sabien, Fjord opens his mouth while keeping his eyes closed, not sure if he wants to see Sabien's hard gaze just yet. 

 

“Suck.” 

 

Fjord does as he's told and sucks on Sabien's finger, shuddering a little at the taste of cooling cum on his tongue. Like everything else about him, Sabien's spend is bitter and, unfortunately, a little bit addictive, and though Fjord would rather die than tell him, he does wish he'd asked his old friend to come down his throat. 

 

Opening his eyes, Fjord looks down at Sabien, letting his finger fall out of his mouth. Strangely, Fjord notices as he reties his trousers, the cold jealousy in Sabien's eyes, the ice he's become accustomed to over their months working for Vandren,  isn't quite there. The half-elf looks wonderfully dishevelled, cheeks flushed red and mouth puffy from sucking on Fjord's skin, and the usual harsh lines around his eyes have melted away.

 

In this moment, there is no all-consuming envy in his expression, no pride or wrath or even lust. Sabien just looks calm, at peace, even—Fjord didn't even realise Sabien was capable of that anymore—as he stares at the collar of Fjord's shirt, where a purple-green-brown mark is surely starting to show. 

 

“Are you… okay?”

 

He looks up to meet Fjord's golden eyes. The evening air is getting ever colder, now that the sun is setting, but the last light of the day is gleaming through Sabien's long, yellow hair, making his tanned skin seem even more luminous than usual and turning his eyes the colour of jade. 

 

For two heart-stopping moments, it seems Sabien might kiss him. 

 

_ This could be the beginning.  _

 

_ He could love me again.  _

 

_ We might be okay.  _

 

Sabien blinks, eyes narrowing, and the spell is broken. 

 

“I'm doing perfect, sweetheart,” he says, a smile souring his words. “We don't need to pretend you're worried about me.”

 

_ I  _ am _ worried about you,  _ Fjord thinks, watching the man he used to love—the man that part of him will always love—gather his pack and turn away.  _ I'm worried you're falling into something I can't pull you out of, and I'm worried you really do hate me, and I'm worried you're going to do something incredibly stupid. _

 

He says none of those things. Instead, Fjord picks up his own bag and smooths down his shirt before following Sabien to the end of the alley. 

 

Just before they part ways at the entrance, Sabien stops and turns to Fjord, his expression, as it so often is nowadays, impossible to read. They pause, not saying anything, and stare at each other for a long, long moment. Again, Sabien is looking at him like he's searching for something that Fjord doesn't understand. He isn't sure if it's an answer Sabien needs, or a reason, or something else, but he takes a step forward anyway, standing close enough that Sabien has to tilt his head up to keep eye contact. 

 

“Are we good, now?” Fjord asks, a little awkward and a lot nervous. 

 

He doesn't know what, exactly, the other man wants, or how to give it to him, but this is  _ Sabien _ , his oldest friend, his first love. He might not be a particularly good person, but he and Fjord have been in this together since they were children. He was right, in a way—Fjord  _ does  _ owe him, just like Sabien owes  _ him _ , owes him food and money and ten years of kindness. 

 

Sabien doesn't smile, but leans up and presses his face into the crook of Fjord's neck, and says, softly but not gently, “Well, we're a team, aren't we? Even if you took my job.”

 

Fjord's heart stops for a second, scared he  _ had _ broken something, before he feels the crooked grin appear against the skin of his throat. “Yes, you prick, we're a team,” he replies. “You're not going to lose me anytime soon.” He rolls his eyes and pulls Sabien off his neck to look at him properly

 

“I should hope not,” Sabien says, and the grin is even sharper and more snake-like than usual. “I've still got plans, after all.”

 

He leans up again and kisses Fjord, biting and bruising his mouth as badly as he'd bruised his neck and hips. It's rougher than they usually are after sex, more like a reminder of what Sabien just did to him than a fond conclusion to a pleasant evening.

 

“Remember me,” Sabien whispers against Fjord's lips, “when you're talking to Vandren tonight. Every time he tells you what a good man you are, remember whose fingerprints are all over your body, and whose taste is in your mouth.”

 

Sabien pulls away, leaving Fjord to stare after him as he slips out onto the street, not glancing back once. 

 

Touching his tender lips, Fjord takes a deep breath before setting off to the inn where Vandren has requested his company for a celebratory dinner. 

  
  


_ one year later _

  
  


There was a power in the way Sabien acted, in how he carried himself and talked and took from everyone, rich and poor. An arrogance that believed he could be in control at all times, that he could be, and  _ was _ , always right. It was dangerous, and frustrating, and—Fjord touches the bite mark on the back of his neck, now faded to a barely visible scar—deeply attractive. 

 

Fjord tries recall some of that innate strength as he stands in front of the newly-acquired crew of the  _ Mistake _ . 

 

He's back on the ocean again, but it has never felt so unfamiliar, especially as he realises this is the first time he's tasted salt air without Sabien next to him since he was a teenager. It's strange, being with these new—were they still new?—companions, but they are back on his home territory, with a ship and a crew and some kind of a mission, so Fjord needs every ounce of stolen confidence he can muster. 

 

“Alright, folks,” he says, in an accent he took from Vandren, “that's about it. Anyone got a question?”

 

A hand shoots up—the one original sailor from the  _ Mist _ . “What do we call you?”

 

_ You are right. You are in control. You will never be powerless again.  _

 

“Captain Tusktooth will do fine.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> anyone else got theories about fjord and his not-boyfriend?? chuck them in the comments!!


End file.
